All is Fleeting
by SkippingSteppingStones
Summary: Vader doesn't know where he is, how he got there, or who the strangers are, but in the familiar setting of another medbay, he contemplates the things he does know.
1. Chapter 1

Active Headcanons: Autistic Force-sensitives

Trigger Warnings: Hospitals, blood mention

AUs: Shenanigans after Bespin, will explain along the way.

Vader thrashed again, desperate to escape the strangers who held him. His mind was swimming, his eyes unable to focus, the red tint of his lenses confusing the scene even farther.

He didn't know where he _was!_

A face came close to his own for a moment, and he held his breath, as best the respirator would allow, trying to focus wholly on the features, before it was gone again, back into the miasma of chaos.

 _Where's Luke?_ He thought, unbidden, and immediately he scrambled at the already closed thought. Why had it come to mind? Why would he think Luke would be anywhere near him? Luke hated him, Luke was far away, not here, not now…

He thought he could hear shouting, but something had gone wrong with the helmet, and it wasn't relaying the words to him, or amplifying the sounds.

Were these imperials, or rebels? He could hardly feel them, as they pushed him along, but was it only because his ruined body seemed to finally be giving up on sensation altogether?

He tried to take another step, and stumbled, falling to one knee, only to feel hands under his arms, pulling him back to his feet.

Perhaps losing sensation would be a blessing. Almost definitely, in fact.

He tripped again, but was supported before he could fall.

Actually, he thought, finding himself retreating into his own mind to avoid the chaos of the exterior world, if he could retroactively delete sensation from the rest of his life too, that'd be great.

 _Maybe_ … He stumbled again, and this time no one pulled him back to his feet, instead lowering him into a seat that he couldn't see or feel at all. _Maybe just scratch punishments,_ he thought at whatever part of his mind was deciding what senses were necessary.

He was slumping, he thought vaguely, trying to focus on the sensation of his own spine. His vision had gone completely, and he didn't know whether to blame his helmet, or his eyes.

He thought there was someone beside him, some pressure on his arm, but where a hand might've rested, he had only feeling-less metal, and couldn't be sure.

They must have been making sure he didn't move, he thought, and allowed himself to slump further back. With no additional knowledge of what was occurring, or who he was with, he was willing to take the time to rest.

Perhaps later things would be more decipherable, and he would be able to struggle, or return to work with more energy, whichever was necessary.

He thought he felt the hand that may have been on his arm move, and tried to reach out in the Force, to sense the invisible being.

But nothing answered his call, and he tried to quell the surge of panic that rose in his throat.

He didn't _like_ being Force sensitive anymore, he tried to tell himself. He didn't get to show off fun tricks, or fly races, or enjoy his enhanced physical abilities, and hadn't for years.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a tremor going through his body. He didn't want the Force, and he didn't want to _feel_ , and if he couldn't see, well, no feeling meant no pain anyhow, and if this was what it was to _die,_ then he would gladly go through the gates of hell.

The hand he'd thought might've been on his arm gripped his wrist suddenly, and he felt himself pulled to his feet.

He wished he could see, or hear, or feel anything more than the vague sense of down…

He tried to open his mouth, to speak. The words would be useless, and any answer would go unheard, but he wanted to make himself known. But his jaw wouldn't move, and the vague hiss he thought he'd managed wasn't amplified by his vocoder.

The whole galaxy felt wrong, his enhancements suddenly strangely absent, and he was lost. The stranger who had his arm was leading him along, and he struggled to open his eyes, and found the vague shape of a medic, wearing simple blue scrubs. He was considerably shorter than Vader, and Vader realized anew how crouched he was.

He reflected that they may not have realized who he was.

But… that was wrong… he was _Vader_ , he was identifiable! They would know who they had, and would treat him accordingly!

He didn't remember how he had been captured, or anything that felt like recent events… He remembered Luke at Bespin, and his boy's panicked escape, and he knew, though he could not remember, that he had returned to his castle to search for further information.

But that all felt distant. He had a vague feeling that there had been another mission, that he had perhaps left unfinished when these strangers had found him.

The medic pushed him down onto a cot, and he allowed himself to be lain flat.

Why had his first thought been of Luke?

The other responses he could justify, a miasma of panic and desperation, but the thought of his son had been so frivolous, so aside from the situation at hand.

Luke was a non-issue, he thought, still ignoring the medic as his face was turned to the side, the medic pulling at his eyelids to look into his damaged eyes.

His son was not a player in his life in any meaningful way, nor was he ever likely to be. Luke was a distant figure, with an agenda too different from his father's to ever be close, the last shard of a long-broken dream.

The medic pulled at his arm, and Vader lay still, allowing them to move him. He didn't care. Whatever was happening would pass, eventually. He would be killed, or interrogated, or healed and pressed back into service. All was fleeting. His life moved from moment to moment with no release of the passage of _time_ , the horror of the last twenty years firmly crammed into a timeless stretch to infinity, or contained in a heartbeat.

Luke was the only indicator that time had passed.

It had been a shock, almost, to see the boy. To see a man, born and grown in the time since time had ceased to mean anything. To look at a Jedi, and think of the last time he had held his wife, and placed his hand briefly on her womb, on their soon-to-be-born little one, and realize that Luke had lived a whole life in Vader's fevered, broken nightmare.

He twitched as the medics began to prepare him for what he suspected would be a very long hospital stay, preparing IVs, and beginning diagnostics.

He would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he wanted his son in part for that reason.

His little boy was no longer little, no longer the baby that he had never imagined beyond, but perhaps there would still be _change_ , still growth enough that he could recognize the passage of time in his son.

With his body modified and regulated to the point of mechanical precision, he didn't feel himself age. Any such vestiges of humanity had long been cut from whatever Palpatine did to keep himself alive, when Vader was sure he should have long been dead. Imperial officers came and went so quickly that they were not a mark of time longer than a mere few weeks, months, at most.

But perhaps there would still be change in his son.

A light came on overhead, saturating his vision until the galaxy seemed entirely white, the vague buzzing of mechanical implements surrounding him.

He wanted to watch his son grow up.

He caught himself sob, and felt the medics… yes, there was definitely more than one now, scramble to deal with what must have seemed a flaw in his systems.

He had missed it _all_ , dammit! His son was grown, a man in his own damned right, a man who _hated_ Vader, and Vader didn't BLAME him!

He cried again, a wordless shout of agony. If he still worked, there would have been destruction, but in his failure, it was all he could do to make the sound.

He _deserved_ hatred.

Luke's mother would have hated him too.

Padmé, for whom he had sacrificed his freedom, his mind, his body, and one day his life …

She would have stood at their son's side, across a battlefield from him, proud of their son, and damned him to hell yet again.

And at least Luke wouldn't have been alone.

The medics, having calmed from their panic at his sobs, began shifting him again, and Vader could barely detect the shearing of a tunic from his battered body.

He could have sworn… no… he was Vader… He no longer wore anything so simple as a tunic… where was his suit? He couldn't… he couldn't hear his breathing, and that seemed wrong…

He opened his eyes, and tried to focus on the room, but his lenses still weren't working, the galaxy was still a blur, and it was too _colourful_ , too real to be the simulacrum he dazedly survived.

 _This_ must have been the world where Luke lived. Where things were immediate, and blood stood out against a world of other colours, not merely fading away to another shade of red.

He tried to fold his arms over his stomach, to crumple inwards and not have to see the world he had ruined with his ability to forget its truth.

He wished Padmé did stare him down across the battlefield. He wished her voice spoke for his imprisonment, and her eyes glared at him like the scum he was. He wished to see her love their son, and feel jealousy eat at his stomach that _he_ wasn't the one to care for him, that the boy had chosen _her_.

But Luke's choice had been his own. There had been no mother to draw him to the light, to keep him from following Vader to the comfortable, easy, selfish Dark Side.

Luke was simply too good for his father.

Vader knew he was crying still, though he had abandoned the agonizing gasps and shouts of emotion, now lying still and sipping at the air as tears ran, silent, down his face.

His son. The one he loved. The one for whom he _would_ die, if it came to that.

Luke was too much his mother's son to ever return to him.

The traits he had loved in Padmé had been passed on, had resurfaced in their son, and he knew that it was enough.

His son was perfect, and in that perfection, he could never be Vader's.

His only remaining joy. Not his own.

With the sudden reintroduction of a being he loved, Vader's galaxy had been reconfigured, and he still didn't know where it left him.

He wanted to claim his son, and draw him back into his life, but Luke resisted that. He wanted to protect his child, but his position had not left him with the ability to _protect_ one of his enemy.

He heaved with another breath, and fell still.

He didn't want Luke to be his enemy.

When he heard the name, it looped in his mind until a distraction came along, as he analyzed every tiny inflection. He needed to know every detail of his son, every enemy the boy had made in his fight for justice. He had to have forewarning of every threat to his child's safety, and he ached to hear the closeness in his victims' voices.

His son was beloved.

Like his mother before him, the boy drew importance, etched himself on minds, influenced all those around him…

In a better galaxy, he may one day have followed in his mother's footsteps, leaving the fighting to his father.

He wanted to stand protectively behind the boy, a hand on his shoulder, and death in his eyes, should anyone dare to threaten his youngling.

He wanted to help his son rise gracefully to a podium, to speak of justice and equality, and to see his eyes sparkle with eagerness to hear his parents' impressions as he stepped back down to them.

He wanted to care for his boy, and support him, and perhaps chase him down with a hairbrush when he'd got too flustered, and shaken himself out of his formally tidy hair and ruffled his shirt.

But with every encounter with the boy, he was forced to see how distant that dream was. That it existed in a galaxy that no longer did, and that could not be reconstructed fast enough. That each moment was another in which Luke _couldn't_ be that bold and brave person, or, perhaps more accurately, that now was a time when Luke's actions were what could make change.

And Vader was what stood in the way of that…

With that cold, painful realization, the same one he always came to, he exhaled, and let the tension go from his body, his fists uncurling as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Heartbroken for the thousandth time, he tried to let it all go, to run down his cheeks with his tears, and fade away to unreality, only to be discovered again.

The medics moved around for a short period more, looking into his eyes and changing monitors and systems, before tucking a thin blanket over him, and walking from the room.

With his torturous contemplation of his actions over, time fell back to its usual impossible, time-less slog, and Vader lay in the dark.

All was fleeting.

Soon, the galaxy would return to how it really was, and Vader would be returned to some form of Sithly activity, not the torturously human action of medical aid.

The light faded from the room, and Vader didn't note its change. The sounds of the hospital continued, so monotone and mundane that he hardly heard them, and he didn't care to listen. His heartbeat continued, monitored by electronics, and he didn't choose to feel it. He was only letting time pass.


	2. Chapter 2

Active Headcanons: Autistic Force-sensitives, trans twins (not new for this chapter, just forgot to mention it in the first)

Trigger Warnings: Hospitals, apparent non-consensual surgery on Vader

AUs: Shenanigans after Bespin, will explain along the way.

When the lights rose back to daylight levels, and Vader allowed his brain to begin working again, he recognized that he had been moved in the night.

Not very much, no. The ceiling overhead was certainly the same one he had stared at all night, but his left arm was elevated, and he couldn't think of a single reason for that.

There was no injury or condition that he could think of that might require elevating a prosthetic limb, after all.

Feeling hazy still, his senses only barely beginning to respond, and now muddled by the long period of inactivity, he slowly moved his fingers, trying to understand what his arm rested on.

It was something solid under his hand, he rapidly decided, and not a sling. That meant it was unlikely to be for medical reasons, but what _was_ it?

He began feeling for any sort of distinction on the form, when it moved suddenly, seeming to try to shake him off.

For a moment, he struggled to remember a next step for dealing with this unknown, before struggling to focus his eyes, and see what it had been.

He was beaten to the punch by a voice.

"Oh, you're awake."

"Luke?" he rasped, confused. Where were his restraints, if he had ended up with the Alliance? Where were the guards and interrogators?

"You could close your eyes, when you sleep, you know," Luke said, and Vader felt him take his hand, before the boy's face came into view as Luke leaned down towards him. "It'd be less creepy."

Vader frowned in confusion, reaching up to stroke his little one's cheek, and assure himself that the boy was truly with him. Why… why was Luke smiling like that? It looked so easy, so familiar… But sort of sad too, and Vader's heart ached.

Since when had they been on the sort of terms where Luke would jokingly tell him that one of his habits was "creepy"? Or to stay at his side while he was in hospital, or _apparently_ to keep him from full imprisonment while in Alliance custody?

That Luke was willing merely to be touched was unbelievable.

"Better for your eyes, too," Luke added, and there was a horrible screech of his chair against the flooring as he scooted it closer to his father, clearly accommodating for his vision.

"My eyes have long been past saving," he said, unsure if he was trying to return Luke's joking in turn, or to dismiss the boy's laughter out of hand.

Why was Luke _acting_ like this! He didn't know how to deal with it, he was a slave at _best_ , and a monster at _worst_ , and dammit, all he cared for in the galaxy was an opportunity to be with his son, but this didn't make _sense._

"But what _is_ this?" he demanded. Perhaps if he could just make demands, and force his son to explain things to him, and dominate the conversation as he always did…

Luke turned away from him, the hand he held slipping loose as the boy turned to the monitors and various drips feeding into Vader's system.

"Oh, no wonder," he mumbled, and Vader anxiously watched him fiddle with a dial, before turning back to him. "It's all right, things'll start to look clearer soon."

"I sincerely doubt that," Vader answered, struggling to sit up. Apparently, dominating the conversation was not an option right now, but Luke seemed to be willing to let that slide for the moment.

The boy laughed, and his hand slipped from Vader's altogether, his white hospital gown disappearing into the monochrome room almost immediately.

"Wait," he said, reaching out for his son. He didn't… he didn't want to be alone here. Stranger or not, enemy or not, he wanted his son to remain with him. A familiar face, if only because of their relation.

"It's okay, Father," Luke said, and Vader felt his son's touch on his mind, gently present and comforting. "I'm only looking for…" he trailed off, and Vader heard movement as he tried to find the spot of moving light in his frustratingly dim vision. "There!"

The blur that was Luke seemed to dive across a table, before trotting back to his father, apparently holding something invisible.

Vader squinted, trying to make out the boy's hands, before Luke was taking his, and pressing… something? Into it.

Uncertainly, Vader tried to grasp whatever Luke had passed him, and the boy yelped, grabbing his hand again.

"Don't _crush_ them!"

"What _are_ they?!" Vader demanded, accidentally moving his hand, and hearing a crunch.

Luke let out a sigh of frustration, and Vader opened his hand, hoping it wasn't too late, only to see his son reach out quickly, and catch what Vader imagined must have been the remains of the invisible thing.

"Well, they were glasses," Luke sighed, and Vader tried again to focus hard enough to see what his son held. "I guess… I could probably bend that back into shape…"

Luke perched on the edge of his father's bed, and Vader uncertainly reached out to feel at his boy's sleeve as Luke focused.

"I don't know what's happening…" he sighed, gripping his son's arm.

Luke radiated concern, and Vader trembled suddenly with emotion. He squeezed the boy's sleeve tighter, suddenly disbelieving his fortune again. Luke had been absent, and he had more or less managed to accept that, because it was the only logical way his son could _exist,_ but now Luke sat here, and reassured him that everything would be alright!

"How much do you remember?" Luke asked softly, and Vader flinched as his son leaned down towards his face.

"Nothing," he whispered, trembling as something slipped over his ears, the touch cold on his scarred nose. He knew nothing. He knew only that this was wrong, that something utterly catastrophic must have occurred to return his son to him, something utterly galaxy-shattering. "I… I remember… hurting you… My little one, it was such a _mistake_."

"I know," Luke murmured, and Vader felt another tremor go through him as he grasped at his son's hands, needing them close to him. Just for what little reassurance his son's presence could offer in their uncertain galaxy.

"We… well, we've been together for a while now, it's not just that that's behind us now."

Vader felt his son's thumbs tracing the metal that masqueraded as tendons on the backs of his hands. "You'll remember pretty soon. They just thought it'd be a good idea if you weren't totally awake while we tried to get you back to base."

For a moment, they were silent as Vader tried to process that information, before Luke said, "You can open your eyes now."

Slowly, Vader opened his eyes, and was surprised to find that the galaxy had resolved itself around him.

"Have you…" Luke's voice was tinged with amusement, and Vader could already feel himself smiling in return, the absurdity of the whole situation beginning to get to him. "Have you really never seen glasses before?"

"No," he chuckled, reaching out and folding his son's hand in his own.

Luke squeezed his hand, and Vader watched the properly-resolved scene in fascination. It had been so long since he had _properly_ seen something, with it neither blurred, nor bathed in blood.

"You can look around," Luke encouraged him, and Vader tore his gaze away from their hands to take in the medbay.

It was nothing spectacular, or unusual. Only a familiar white cell, with familiar instruments. The only thing that set it apart from an Imperial medbay was his son, still seated at his side, and Vader allowed his gaze to fall back to the only important aspect of the scene.

 _"_ _Luke."_

His breath caught in his throat, and he reached up again, delicately touching a scar across his son's face.

This was new, not familiar from Bespin…

Or had he merely failed to notice it in their duel? Had he slashed his son, and failed to even realize the pain he had inflicted, as he had ignored the amputation of his hand?

Luke smiled slightly, catching his hand, and holding it as Vader tried to continue, to explore all the cuts and scars that branched from it.

"I'm sorry," Vader sighed, squeezing his son's fingers, and gently laying his thumb over the scar again.

He wanted to heal it, as he wanted to take away every moment of pain he had ever caused his son. He reached out to the Force, drawing what little he could access around the two of them, preparing to attempt healing, before Luke chuckled, shaking his head.

"You already tried."

"I…" Vader trailed off, lost. "I did?"

Luke nodded, settling more comfortably on the bed, leaning against Vader's side as he lowered their clasped hands to his knee.

"Mhmm. It'll heal fast enough, and it's my own fault I got it. You said so yourself."

"I don't remember," Vader said, beginning to try to express that he, specifically, did not remember berating his son for such an injury, before leaving it simply at that. "But… it wasn't me?"

Luke looked back at him, before curling up comfortably, seeming infinitely familiar with his father. "Not this time."

"What's _happened?"_ Vader begged, trying uselessly to sit up, and finding his son's weight against him enough to keep his weakened body pinned. "Why do you trust me, I haven't _earned_ it!"

Luke looked down at him with an air of gentle concern, and Vader pulled at his limbs again. He wanted to sit up, and look down on his son as he had grown used to, and feel as though he was in control of his situation.

But Luke reached down towards him, gently placing his hand on Vader's brow, and sweeping away the panic with a gentle swell of the Force.

"It's alright, Father," he murmured. "We've been treated, and you don't have to answer to anyone anymore."

"I don't-," Vader attempted again, meeting his son's eyes.

"Understand," Luke finished for him. "I know. We just didn't want you panicking when you woke up. You understand, don't you?"

"I _am_ panicking," Vader moaned, closing his eyes in renewed exhaustion as his son's comforts soothed his mind slightly. His whole mind seemed to be screaming, trying to batter away his son's calm. There was _nothing_ calm about this situation, nothing reasonable or understandable. But Luke's presence, and quiet words, and soothing warmth muffled the panic, perhaps even beginning to abate it.

"Not as much as you probably would have," Luke assured him, and Vader sighed. Reassuring presence or not, there must've been _something_ of himself in Luke, and not merely a copy of Padmé.

"You're not very comforting." It was a comment or a complaint, but Vader didn't care to try to decide which.

"I'm not really trying to be," Luke shrugged, and Vader sighed as the boy slipped from his side.

"Luke?" he asked, looking away quickly as Luke turned to meet his eyes. He wanted to express fondness, and relief at his son's presence, but the words refused to come out. Tired, he reached out, and grasped his son's hand again, pulling it to his chest. "My son…" he sighed, pressing his lips briefly to Luke's knuckles, before the boy laughed uncertainly, and pulled his hand free.

"Father…"

For a moment, Vader had a flash of his son's emotions, and in a heartbeat, found that his son _knew_ about his past. More than anyone else in the galaxy, save for himself.

He knew he'd been a slave, that he still considered himself one in many ways.

Then the boy exhaled, and the moment of torturous mutual knowledge was gone. "It's all right. We're free, now."

"Where did you gain-," Vader asked, his voice trembling. He didn't _really_ want to know. He could recognize that, even after decades of trying to supress such feelings. Given the choice, he would much rather his son knew nothing at all of his past.

But Luke was shaking his head, and Vader felt a great, soft breath of the Force against his mind, vaguely directed by his son to take away the anxiety.

"You'll remember soon, Father," Luke reassured him. "Don't try to rush it, it's a strange enough sensation as it is."

Vader pulled his son's arm towards him, desperately clinging to his anxiety, for the awareness it lent him. This was it, his opportunity to put panic to good use, and figure out his situation. "What. Have you. Done."

The effect would have probably been more intimidating if he had been able to muster something more than a whisper, or were he not wearing a pair of hastily-bent glasses, but Luke seemed startled enough.

"It's just temporary!" the boy promised, pulling at Vader's grip. He prickled with alarm and distress, and Vader couldn't help noticing that they had been absent before. "We just didn't want you panicking! I was able to keep you free, _please_ don't alarm them!"

"Why are you standing up for me?" Vader demanded, managing to push himself into a sitting position, "I've been nothing to you!"

"You're my _father,_ " Luke plead. But he had pulled back entirely now, standing up, and stepping away from Vader.

"And a kriffing lot of good it did us before!" Vader shouted, as best he could. He tried to get his legs over the edge of the bed, to stand up and stalk after his son. This was better. This made sense to him, even if he was already missing Luke's bemused smile and laughter.

"It did!" Luke answered, and Vader felt a sudden whirl of the Force, still dancing out of his grip, and knew his son had somehow locked down the room. "Please, stay calm! It's bad enough as it-!"

Vader tried to push himself to a stand, and nearly fell. Something was wrong. A glance down, and he felt a tremor run through him. His prosthetics had been changed. They looked Imperial issue, and Vader could recognize some of his own handiwork in the design, but it was _unnerving_.

"What's happened to me." He said, the words coming out flat in panic and desperation.

"I don't know!" Luke admitted, sounding panicky.

"Calm down," Vader snapped, allowing himself to fall back to the bed for now as he contemplated this newest mystery.

"As if you weren't panicking a minute ago!" Luke retorted, taking an uncertain step back towards his father.

"I feel," Vader grumbled, moving one of these unfamiliar legs uncertainly, "That a maximum of one of us should panic at a time."

"So, what," Luke asked, his panic seeming to fade into annoyance, "I'm on your side now?"

"Of course," Vader said, gritting his teeth, and attempting to bend the new limb unnaturally. He was relieved that it didn't give to his attempt to twist the knee forwards. He didn't think he was ready for any new angles of motion at the moment. "You always were."

"A second ago!" Luke protested, wincing as the leg suddenly gave an ominous creak, "You were trying to interrogate me!"

Vader ignored him, instead testing the other leg. It would be just like Palpatine to have given him mismatched and confusing new limbs…

"Would you stop that!" Luke demanded, as the other leg creaked horribly as well, and there was the sound of something giving way. "We've _just_ finished making sure they weren't gonna pull you apart!"

"Why would my own limbs pull me apart?" Vader asked, moving to scoot properly back onto the bed, and catching sight of his arms. "Oh, Force…"

"You were like that when we met up on the shuttle, and they didn't seem to _like_ it when we took you." Luke told him, stepping back up to him as Vader began moodily poking at his left arm.

"If I attempt to get any further information, you will only tell me to wait again."

Luke sighed, "That's right."

Vader grimaced, refusing to look at his son.

He was confused, and upset, though not angry. At least, not angry at his son. Angry with whoever had modified his body, yes. Angry about whatever had led him to be under Alliance custody.

"Can you at least tell me if there's any good news?"

"We're here," Luke shrugged, "They said when they picked us up that seemed important to you."

Vader stopped fiddling, allowing himself to slump, and gaze blankly at the new limb. He suspected he was radiating distress, but he couldn't stop it. He was lost, and confused, and he didn't feel he was in any state to answer that.

He wasn't sure being with the Alliance was a good thing, after all.

"They _said_ ," Luke continued, his voice rising, "That you were calling for me in your sleep! Was it all just your act, Father? Was it all just part of your _cover?"_

"I-," Vader faltered. He was back in uncharted territory, and back to uncertainty. He didn't know what was happening, and he didn't know how to deal with not knowing, but his son really was the only upside to the situation, and he was distressing him…

"Luke." He wanted to know how to address the situation properly. A part of him almost wished he could see the conversation in the simple terms of a strategy, but he ached for the memory of human conversations with unpredictable companions. "I am in enemy territory. There are modifications to my body that I do not recall, and I have no idea how I ended up here. I am, indeed, glad that you are here, but you are withholding information, and it is difficult for me to remain calm."

Luke let out a sigh, and Vader closed his eyes as he felt the boy seat himself next to his father.

For a second, there was silence, before he felt Luke's hand again.

"Do you trust me?"

"As much as I trust anyone, I suppose," Vader said slowly, squeezing Luke's fingers uncertainly. It had been fine before, but now that he was aware of the new prosthetics, he was concerned he would have difficulty controlling them.

"Then, trust me when I say it's gonna be alright," Luke asked, his voice calm and reasonable. "These are my friends, and you're my _father_. And unless you've been lying this whole time, I think you're gonna calm down a lot once memory suppression wears off."

"And it will wear off in time," Vader sighed.

For now, he decided, it was likely easiest to allow his son to guide him, and follow the boy's orders without question. As he had the night before, he would reserve his energy, and prepare for when he was more complete.

Always waiting for that moment when he held all the cards, and could finally make the perfect move.


	3. Chapter 3

Vader pulled his arm away from his new master the moment he was inside the holding cell. He knew he'd probably pay for his insolence, but at the moment, he didn't care. After decades of the false-freedom of being a Sith, he chafed to be put back into traditional slavery. Despite the information gathering nature of his enslavement, he hated the cuffs, and no amount of assurance that it was necessary could make the ache in his oldest scars shut up.

He hated the new prosthetics, and the new, aching scars from the surgery that had barely returned his lungs to working order. He hated that his vision was still nigh on useless, and he hated that Palpatine had insisted that it did not have to be further repaired, as his impairment would allow him to get closer to anything of interest.

A small, rebellious part of him hoped that his new masters might see fit to repair him a bit themselves, perhaps just to let him see across a room, but for now he was nearly blind without his helmet.

The new master didn't immediately grab him back, and he stumbled uncertainly into the room, before exhaling, and letting the Force draw the room about him.

It wasn't perfect. His 'vision' was patchy, required all his attention, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to maintain it.

Letting out a small breath, he let go of the Force again, and the world reverted back to its strange new colours and vague traces of movement.

"Next stop: the factories!" shouted the master's voice, and Vader winced, bowing his head, and trying to press back to somewhere he could safely seat himself, and wait the ride out.

It was strange to feel the rumble of the ship under his feet, and smell other humans, and fear for their destination again. So many times, he had thought he'd escaped slavery, and so many times, it had found him again. His mind was struggling to distance itself from the situation, and he struggled not to disassociate. As much as he hated his mission, it was _his_ , and if he was unable to identify the source of the most recent threat to his master's empire, he would not be allowed to return to his service.

Trapped in his head, he failed to recognize that a vague splash of colour in his vision was another slave until he had directly collided with them.

"Hey!"

Something about the tone gave Vader pause, and he started to look up, attempting to discern the face. But before he could even straighten, the Force seemed to explode, and Vader realized in horror that two of its most powerful users had walked into one another.

 _"Luke!"_ He grabbed his son's shoulders, attempting to draw the boy closer. It couldn't be real, he thought desperately. Luke couldn't be here, Luke couldn't be enslaved! It had to be a nightmare, induced by the drugs or pain or _something!_

He physically felt the tremble shoot through Luke.

 _"Father?"_ he asked in return, pulling Vader's hands from his shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" Vader hissed, leaning closer, trying to make out his son's features.

"I'm _trying_ to find out who these people are!" Luke took a step back, and Vader hastily followed him, afraid of losing him to the crowd. "What are _you_ doing in with the _slaves?"_

Vader bristled, "You believe me to be in league with the masters?" He lowered his already raspy voice and whispered as best he could, "The Emperor is as concerned about this faction as you are."

Luke groaned, and took another step away from Vader, turning his back, and running a hand through his hair. "You can't _be_ here."

"And yet I am," Vader answered, grasping his son's arm again. "But it is you who should not be in slavery. Who assigned you to this mission?"

"I volunteered!" Luke hissed, wrenching away again, "Our family have always been slaves anyway, so I knew I'd be harder to spot!"

"Luke!" Vader began, but his son turned back to him, and Vader felt a sudden wash of exhaustion.

"What, Father? Do you think I have a better option? Do you think I'd rather send Leia in here?"

"How do you intend to escape?" Vader demanded, pulling Luke's arm, trying to draw him to a quiet alcove to continue their conversation. He couldn't risk that a word be heard.

Luke tugged free again, cramming himself into the shadow of the bulkhead, clearly understanding the need for secrecy. "The Alliance will extract me in two weeks."

Suddenly, frustration washed over Luke's face, and he pushed his hand through his hair. "I can't _believe_ you're here. I thought that just once, I'd be able to not have to worry about you _finding_ me! And you're a mechanic, too, aren't you."

He looked up at Vader, exhaustion rolling off him in waves, a flicker of pleading in his eyes. Pleading that his father not share his station, that they not meet again in their work.

"I am," Vader murmured. He hadn't tried to follow Luke into the small alcove, merely standing outside it, where he was sure only Luke could hear him. He felt as if he was intruding, although he knew the only thing to intrude on was his son's stupid, stupid plan.

For a long moment, Vader was silent. "I would have you dragged off this ship, if it would not compromise both of us. This is the one thing in the galaxy I wanted kriffing _less_ than for you to have died!"

"Then sorry for not being _dead_ ," Luke spat, pushing Vader aside, taking advantage of his weakened body.

Stepping aside, Vader caught his son's arm in a vicelike grip. "Luke."

The rebel turned to him, looking as if his gaze alone could burn through his father's scarred chest, and finally tear him apart.

"They will realize that we are related," Vader said. He and his son no longer shared anything like a family resemblance, but there was blood, records, and… and whatever residual affection he held for the boy. Whatever strains of humanity he hadn't managed to tear from his heart. Anything his son felt for him was obliterated by the boy's opposition, the knowledge of his father's evil, and a lack of any connection to their shared family.

But Vader still saw a family in the child's face. Luke, who must have seemed like an island to himself, was a living record of what might have been. His gentle fierceness like a glimpse of his mother, his tiredness an echo of Shmi. Flashes of Padmé's family, who Anakin had hardly met, and the one thing Vader would never identify, because it was new. Whatever made him _Luke_.

"And then what?" Luke spat. He seemed eager to return to the crowd, a slow milling of slaves.

"And then we would likely be punished for not volunteering the information," Vader answered, squeezing his son's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "We…" he struggled for breath for a heartbeat, and briefly feared that his repairs had not been as effective as they had hoped. "We do not have to remain on speaking terms. I will tell our masters whatever you wish, and we will act as it dictates."

"Tell them whatever you want," Luke sighed, pulling his arm free. "I don't want to see you again."

"I can make no promises on that count," Vader said, attempting a smile as he released his son's arm. If he could just illicit a smile, just a flicker of happiness or mere humour on his son's face, it could start to make up for his master's plan. It broke his heart that _this_ , of all places, was where they could be equals, but at least they finally could be.

Without another word, Luke vanished into the crowd.

His chest constricting with the refusal, Vader struggled to reach out, to brush against his presence. Surely there was some comfort he could offer, if only a reassurance that he was _there!_ He wouldn't let harm come to Luke again, and with the rashness of the schemes the boy had been taking part in, he had begun to think Luke understood that.

But there wasn't a flicker to be found, and Vader sighed, slowly sitting down against the wall. It was no surprise, he told himself. He had done nothing for Luke that would merit a bond. They had been separated since the boy's birth, and the fact that Vader had failed to find any sort of family in the wake of the first one's loss didn't mean that Luke had stayed equally isolated.

Luke, who every report said was friendly to a fault. Luke, who he _knew_ had bonded with the aunt and uncle the Empire had murdered.

Of course his son wouldn't want to speak with him longer than necessary.

He was settling into that dark thought when a blow came to his ribs, and he looked up. A master stood over him, and he squinted, attempting to see the stranger's face. For a heartbeat, he caught himself wishing it was Watto, so at least he would know how best to weather the situation.

"What were you two talking about?" the slaver demanded, pointing off into a haze of slaves, presumably at Luke.

"I was surprised to see him again, master," Vader said softly.

"Again?" the slaver asked, crouching down to meet Vader's eyes.

Respectfully, Vader cast his gaze downwards, folding his hands slowly, "He's my son. When I lost his mother, I thought I'd never meet him." Taking the deepest breath he could, he looked up, "I failed him. He doesn't wish to see me again."

At the words, the slaver smiled, showing off sharp, shining teeth as he patted Vader's knee, and stood up.

"That's what I like to hear."


End file.
